Over Her Shoulder

Info S.renwach
25 Oct. '19

Over Her Shoulder

He had a love/hate relationship with this part of his commute, a brisk walk from the ferry at Pier 11 to the Wall Street Subway. On a nice day, the walk was invigorating. Breathing fresh air from the river, wind against his smooth scalp, stretching his legs after 45 mins in a cramped ferry seat. Admiring the steady stream of beautiful women, on their way to work in smart business outfits and smelling of herbal shampoo or running by in tight workout clothes. There were always so many more women here than in midtown.  On a cold or wet day, the uphill walk seemed longer and there were no women to ogle, just shapeless masses beneath long wool coats or puffy parkas.

The next part, a 15-minute ride to midtown on the 2/3, was always brutal. Crowded subway cars, delays and the reek of urine were the norm. The impressive influx of young women from Brooklyn helped, but staring at young women on the subway felt seedy, especially for a 45-year-old married man from the suburbs. Usually, he just zoned out with a podcast or music.
He had been doing the same routine long enough to recognize a handful of faces that arrived at Wall Street the same time he did. The skinny hipster dude with a scraggly beard, tight denim jeans and an impressive rotation of plaid shirts. The old woman with a degenerative condition that made her permanently hunched over at the waist, so much so she faced the floor. The professional woman in her mid-forties who always wore tight business suits that showed off her ample curves, except on Fridays when she went with skin-tight jeans and blouses with the top 4 buttons undone.

It was an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday in mid-October. The man had forgotten his earphones and was reading a boring sci-fi book on his oversized iPhone while waiting for the 2. He heard a few announcements about delays on all lines heading uptown because of a person on the tracks. The 2 slid into the station, slower than usual and filled with people. The man stepped back from the door and counted as 10 people left his part of the car. Good, it will be tight but not sardine tight.

The man stood in the center of the car and held onto the overhead bar. The 2 continued to head slowly uptown, with the usual stops at Fulton, Park and Chambers. A few seconds after pulling out of Chambers the train slowed to a stop. A brusk voice came over the loudspeaker and said, “We are held up by dispatch. We apologize for the delay.”

The man groaned and shifted his weight, letting go of the bar and staring ahead. He was about to reach in his pocket for his iPhone when he got bumped gently in his midsection. He looked down, annoyed, at the petite woman who had bumped him with her ass. Exhaling, he gave the back of her head a dirty look and continued to get his iPhone out of his front pocket. The woman then bumped him with her ass again. Now the man got irritated. The train wasn’t moving, why was he getting bumped? He stared at the back and top of the woman’s head. He couldn’t see her face, just straight black hair.

As he stared at her, the woman lifted her phone and held it with two hands above her shoulder. On the screen was the Notes app, which said,
~Hey, do you want to play?~

As soon as he read it, the woman pulled the phone back in front of her. Is she talking to me? the man asked himself.

Almost immediately, the phone reappeared over her shoulder.
~Yes, you baldy. Do you want to play?~

The man took a second to think. What does this mean? What does this woman want? He looked at her again. She was now standing very close to him. He could see her white blouse with a white undergarment, wool slacks, and sandals with chunky heels. Her face was olive-skinned with thick eyebrows, a slightly large nose, petite mouth, and narrow, slightly slanted eyes. She looked very good.

The man leaned toward her and softly said, “Yes.”

~Put your hand down my pants~

Oh shit, here we go. Still not sure that this was happening, the man put his hand tentatively on the woman’s ass. She pressed hard against his hand. The phone which had disappeared after the last message reemerged over her shoulder.

~Put your hand down my pants~

The man paused again. Every day on the subway, there were announcements about improper touching. Actually, what the message said was unwanted contact. This is wanted, yes? In fact, she demands it.

Breathing deeply, he slowly slid his hand up her firm ass. He reached the stretchy waistline of her pants with his palm, then his fingers. Pressing against her lower back, he slid his right hand down inside her pants. Her skin was hot to touch. He quickly slid his hand down and cupped her left cheek. It was muscular and firm.  Her skin began to gooseflesh under his hand.  The man slightly rearranged his body to be more alongside her.

He now felt his own hard-on. It seemed to have gone from stirring to rock hard instantly. Instinctively he pressed his cock against her left hip while tightly grabbing her cheek.

The man once again paused. The woman turned her head up to look at him in the eye. Her look was intense, her eyes squinted, lips slightly apart and her tongue protruding slightly. She turned away and held up her phone again.

~Duck me~

With that, the man slid his fingers down under her cheek. His middle finger pushed aside the thin strip of thong panty. He bent his frame slightly and leaned his shoulder lower to reach all the way.

His middle and index finger reached her moist slit.  Immediately, both fingers were enveloped in hot, wet flesh. His fingers began quickly thrusting, moving at the knuckle.  Her cheeks stiffened, lower back arched, and she gasped. After only a few quick thrusts her canal throbbed then convulsed. She moved her hips forward and pushed the mans' arm back. He quickly pulled his hand back out of her pants and left it dangling awkwardly by his side.

At some point, the train moved again. Quickly coming back to his immediate surroundings, the man lifted his head and looked forward. The train pulled in to the next step, 14th St. He was about to ask the woman what was next when she raised her phone again.


And without turning around, she stepped briskly off the train and onto the platform. The man watched as she quickly made her way to the platform steps. The door closed, and the train pulled away. The man stood with his left hand on the railing and his right hand wet and at his side.  He was more erect and aroused than he had ever been before and totally alone on a crowded subway car.


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